


Story time

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mr. Gold joins his son in the library for Belle French's weekly fairytale event, the feared landlord gets caught up in a fantastical story of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Come _on_ , papa," Neal says, practically dragging his father into the recently reopened public library. "We have got to find a good spot."

Mr. Gold follows as quickly as he can, carefully masking his unease as his ten years old son and he mingle with the children and parents already present in the brightly colored corner of the library where Neal guides him to. His boy is thankfully oblivious, but the landlord is very much aware of the distrustful, loathing glances grownups and children alike cast on them when he makes his way into the library for the first time.

"It will be almost ten minutes before Miss French begins with her stories," Neal says with excitement, "but we've got to get nice chairs before all of them are taken, so your leg will be comfortable."

The landlord just nods in agreement, a sudden lump in his throat at the concern and consideration of his boy. No matter how much he dislikes being in the presence of so many of the townspeople, it will be entirely worth the joy that his son for some reason finds in the stories that librarian Belle French reads each Wednesday evening.

That's exactly why Mr. Gold finally gave in to his son's repeated request to join the event, where parents are encouraged to accompany their children… and why he allows his son to drag him into the very middle of the assembled mismatch of what seems to be second-hand chairs and couches.

Still, the landlord halts after all when Neal walks to the very front of the area and drops himself on the couch which is closest to the chair facing all the others, where the librarian presumably is going to sit once she arrives.

"This spot is perfect!" his boy exclaims.

Mr. Gold is about to object, for the most prominent place is the very one where he especially doesn't want to be. But then he recalls that his son is doubtlessly only so intent for his company because no else wants to spend time with him, afraid as everyone is of _him_ , the father.

He is further persuaded when Miss French joins the growing group of people. Rather than tensing when she sees him, like everybody else does when he arrives at their workplace - whether he's there for the rent or not - she _smiles_ at him, as if she's happy that he's here.

"Good evening Neal, Mr. Gold," she says, her eyes lingering on the two of them. "It's lovely to see the two of you here."

"Miss French," the landlord replies, making certain not to let his bafflement show as he slightly nods in acknowledgment of her welcoming greeting.

"I'm very glad that you persuaded your father to join us," she says, addressing Neal.

"So am I," the boy says, beaming at both of them.

"I'd better go back to my preparations to make tonight extra special," she says conspiratorially to them.

Despite everything, there's something in the air that makes Mr. Gold feel lighter than he has for considerable time. It's something that doesn't make him mind all that much that other people whisper or even point at him when they think he doesn't notice, his presence obviously very much not appreciated.

Neal is thankfully still oblivious to it, even when Mrs. Nolan snatches her young daughter's hand down when she waves at his son. The landlord simply participates in the boy's excited conversation about the librarian and the stories she reads, despite the circumstances finding it rather easy to encourage his son's enthusiasm and cheerfulness.

Still, it doesn't prevent him from noticing that all the chairs and couches around them remain empty, all parents lingering at the fringes of the open space… and holding back any child who goes in his direction to claim one of the several other comfortable seats.

Mr. Gold can only hope that his son will continue to be oblivious to this sign of rejection, to the fact that the boy is excluded by just about everyone in town because they fear and loathe _him_ … everyone, except for Miss French, apparently.

The librarian in question returns at that very moment. When he lays his eyes on her again, there's no more noticing the emptiness around them… or to have any rational mental process at all.

For some reason, she has changed into a golden, rather low cut dress, only her lush dark curls covering her shoulders and the top of her breasts. She's carrying a thick book, which she will probably read stories from, and something which appears to be some sort of spiky cloak which makes a whole lot less sense to him.

"Beauty and the Beast is the first story I'm going to read tonight," she announces to the delight of all the present children and some parents. "But before I can start, I'm going to need a volunteer to be the Beast to my Belle."

Before he categorize that as the most ridiculous thing he has heard for quite some time, the librarian's gaze lands meaningfully on him. He stares right back, for a few seconds not realizing why she's looking at him like that.

When he finally does, he bares his teeth in warning at the suggestion that _he_ would have to be part of her ridiculous dress up party, let alone as the villain of the fairytale. He may not know the story very well, but there's no doubt in his mind that his potential portrayal in it will bring him nothing but humiliation and yet more loathing.

The seemingly oblivious woman keeps looking at him though, breaking their eye contact only briefly to look meaningfully at the empty spaces surrounding him and his son.

At the same time, Neal starts looking around as well, perhaps thinking that the librarian he adores is making eye contact with someone sitting nearby them… only to spot all the empty chairs and couches around them as well.

His boy's usually so cheerful expression turns to one of confusion and shock when he finally notices that there's no one sitting around them, that they're literally surrounded by a circle of empty seats.

Miss French discreetly raises her eyebrow in a way that makes the landlord see that being part of her ridiculous plan would allow him - and thus his son as well - to become the very center of the story she has planned. The townspeople won't like it in the slightest, but his son definitely will.

He nods very slightly, informing her of his permission.

"Mr. Gold, how nice of you to volunteer," she says, ignoring the collective gasp that goes through the audience.

The landlord doesn't quite hear it himself, his attention solely focused on the way his son smiles broadly at him, as if nothing could have made him happier than his father taking such an active role in the story that's about to be read.

That's why Mr. Gold doesn't object when the librarian puts the ridiculous coat over his shoulders and indicates that they have to turn the couch that they are sitting on around, so they face the audience that tries to have as little to do with them as possible.

He even doesn't voice his protest when she takes the only part of the couch which is still somewhat available now that his son and he are already sitting there, namely practically in his lap.

It's an understatement to say the least that the landlord is utterly bewildered when she seats herself on his thighs, her legs dangling off the side of the couch.

"Is this all right?" she inquires so quietly that only he can hear, for some reason asking permission to sit down with him like this, as if _she_ is the town monster.

"Give me a moment to process this," he mutters cynically, unable to recall the last time someone other than his son basically threw themselves at him… uncertain whether someone else ever did at all.

"I'll sit somewhere else if you prefer," she adds, her voice still not above a whisper, "but I do think that this is the easiest way to include Neal - and you - into the group."

Reminded of his son's joy with a quick glance on the boy's face, Mr. Gold nods his agreement.

The librarian addresses the children who stare at the three of them with wide eyes before she starts to read, but the landlord is oblivious to it, even his son's delight escaping his attention.

It turns out to be a difficult feat to focus on anything but the woman sitting so close to him now that he suddenly is confronted with a lapful of Belle French… a lapful of warm, _soft_ Belle French. She leans against his body as if he isn't the most despised person in town and even as if his body itself isn't as unappealing as it is.

None of the words she says register in his mind, regardless of the number of pages she turns, but he _is_ very much aware of her tone. It's light and gentle… welcoming and accepting.

At some point, she shifts slightly against him, presumably to make herself less uncomfortable. It brings her body yet closer to his and he gasps when her chest brushes lightly against his. He can only nod in approval when she briefly looks up from her book to seek his permission, her eyes so much bluer than he thought they were… and so much more enchanting, just like the rest of her.

Subsequently, it seems only the right thing to do to support some of her weight with a helpful hand on her lower back. She rewards him with a smile that takes his breath yet further away.

Oblivious to the fact that the children slowly but surely approach the librarian - and thus his son and himself as well - to experience as much of her performance throughout the story as possible, he begins to consider, to _appreciate_ , her closeness in a whole new way.

There's something indefinable pleasant about the way she leans against him. Rather than being annoyed by it, he finds himself enjoying the way some of her unrulier curls brush his face, filling his nostrils with a vague scent of roses and something yet more pleasant that must be just her.

The same goes for her warmth, the curve of her upper body still pressed slightly against his chest. Thoroughly grateful to have her neck in the line of vision between his face and the audience, the landlord devotes his full attention to the librarian herself rather than the story she is reading, to admire the beauty which has quite literally stumbled into his arms.

Mr. Gold is somewhat aware that everyone around them is focusing with rapt attention on the story and nothing but the story, even though he's still sitting so closely to the very lovely librarian who is reading it.

When she doesn't include him in the actual story like he feared she would, when she in fact animatedly reads the story as if he isn't there at all, he is lulled into a state of relaxation and contentedness he hasn't known for a very long time.

That lack of attention from the audience on him persuades the landlord to take the chance of resting his chin carefully, tentatively, on her bare shoulder. There's the risk of course that she will reject his approach. It's a _great_ risk, all things considered, but he can take the way she shifts yet a little closer towards him only as encouragement.

Only vaguely aware that Neal follows the story that she's reading with as much reverence as everyone else, Mr. Gold slowly but gradually rests his face against her neck, savoring the perfect softness of her skin. It's like she has brought the story alive beyond the words in the book, awakened something within him as if he were a fairytale hero rather than a gruff, feared landlord.

There is no doubt in his mind whatsoever that she's the kind, beautiful princess in both the story and in reality. No matter how easy it would be to convinced that such women especially want to have nothing to do with the likes of him, everything she has done so far appears to imply otherwise.

After a sudden movement from the librarian and a loud gasp going through the entire audience, his son included, Mr. Gold guiltily removes himself as much from her as their current position allows.

Struggling to find out what is going on, he tries to recall what just happened, what she might have said. To his horror, he finds her words _True Love's Kiss_ echoing in the back of his mind.

He stares at her, not understanding. The blueness of her eyes, the gentleness in them, only make it more difficult to think, to find a dignified way out of these highly unusual circumstances.

"The story ends with the beast and the beauty sharing True Love's Kiss," she says quietly, discreetly glancing back at her book to make clear to him what he missed when he was lost in her.

Still, that explanation confuses him only further, for there can be no way that she actually wants him to do what she appears to imply.

"You have to kiss Belle, papa," his son whispers insistently.

Apparently his son has understood this exactly the same way as he has himself. It doesn't matter that the boy is referring to Belle, the fairytale character, rather than Miss French, the librarian - who, granted, _is_ very much a courageous beauty in her own right.

Right now, she indeed might as well _be_ a fairytale princess. A princess who has asked him to _kiss_ her, and… well, there's no way that he can't comply, if only because he doesn't _want_ to reject her suggestion.

But he wouldn't know how to go about kissing her. He has no idea whatsoever how he might grand the librarian's request, even without taking his own, potentially very considerable awkwardness into the equation.

"Just on my cheek, Mr. Gold," she breathes, with a tension of sorts that wasn't there before.

"Of course," he grumbles, although that specification hardly makes it any easier for him.

Oblivious to the dozens of people watching them with ever increasing bewilderment and unease, he stares at the spot she indicated. He doesn't need to actually touch it to know that it will be warm and soft, wonderfully and probably addictively so, and that there's nothing he'd rather do right now than touch that skin.

But he simply doesn't know how to angle his head and lean towards her, how to do this without making an absolute fool of himself or, worse yet, accidentally making her uncomfortable.

"The beauty could of course kiss her beast on her own accord as well," Miss French whispers knowingly.

Her intention only fully dawns on the landlord when she questioningly glances at his cheek instead. Utterly under her spell, he nods in agreement once more in response to yet another seemingly inane request.

His eyes fluttering closed, Mr. Gold sits very still when she moves more closely towards him, a gasp escaping him when she presses her mouth lightly against his cheek, where she lingers for a breathless second.

He isn't aware of the giggles and snorts all around them when his eyes open again. Instead, he loses himself in the depths of the librarian's eyes and the beauty of her small smile when she calmly continues to read the remainder of the story.

As soon as she is finished with Beauty and the Beast, she begins reading another story. It's a new tale in which he has no part. He is thoroughly happy that Miss French remains right where she is and gives no sign whatsoever that she wants him to let go of her regardless.

Hardly caring about discretion any longer, the landlord buries his face against the side of her neck when she once more doesn't object to his touch, basking in her nearness. Knowing that this wonderfulness will in all likelihood end as soon as she finishes reading, he all but clings to her for as long as the stories will last.

Savoring her warmth and softness, as well as the sweet sound of her voice rather than the actual words she reads aloud, Mr. Gold is entirely caught up in a story with a wholly unexpected plot twist of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you _certain_ that Miss French mentioned to you that she likes dark chocolate?" Mr. Gold asks, rearranging the bowls with chocolate and the crisps that Neal favors on the table in the living room for the third time.

"I do," his son says cheerfully, looking up from his book. "But it's not like it _matters_. I _know_ you got white and milk chocolate as well just in case, when you thought I wasn't looking."

"You can never be prepared enough," the landlord mutters, awfully self-conscious when his son raises an amused eyebrow.

For some unfathomable reason, Miss French didn't object when Neal invited her to come over to their house to read the boy's favorite stories to him. The only reason that Mr. Gold allowed for Neal to ask her in the first place was because he was convinced that she would reject the offer - after all, how could she _not_ , when asked to visit the house of the most loathed and feared man in town?

But Miss French will be there regardless in a few minutes or so, and the landlord is nervous to say the least. The by far loveliest woman he has ever known is going to visit his home, and everything has to be perfect, in a seemingly natural and casual way of course, if only for his son's sake. After all, the librarian is the only one of his son's very few friends and acquaintances who has ever wanted to visit their house.

Glancing at his watch, he finds to his frustration that barely a minute has passed since he did so for the last time. At least that gives him the chance to walk over to the antique, full length mirror in the far corner of the room and check his appearance once more.

The face and body that greet him in the reflective glass may be as unpleasant to look at as always, but at least his best suit, his favorite shirt and brand new tie are as impeccable as he would like them to be.

"There's no need to fuss, papa. It's not like Miss French is coming for a _date_ with you."

"Of course not," he replies, harsher than he intended and oblivious to the way his son looks intently at him.

"Would you _like_ to go on a date with Miss French?"

Luckily, the bell rings before the landlord can find a way to say that he wouldn't like that at all, if only because he wouldn't know to behave aroun dher... how to not ruin such a meeting and how to ensure the arrangement of a next date.

At least his son doesn't appear to know that he just thoroughly brushed his teeth in the bathroom upstairs.

"I'll get the door!" Neal yells, jumping up from the couch and racing to the hallway, still holding the book he was reading.

Listening to their cheerful chatter as soon as his son opens the door, the landlord looks critically through his living room one more time, wondering what the librarian might think of the large but admittedly crammed decor.

When the sound of their footsteps informs him that the two of them are about to move into the room, the landlord walks away from the mirror, not quite knowing where to go, and how to stand.

And then the door opens once more and the librarian walks in with a large backpack presumably filled with books, her arrival a ray of bright sunlight in the gloominess of his house.

"Good evening, Mr. Gold," she says, for some reason smiling when her eyes fall on him, standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

"Good evening, Miss French," he says, his voice not nearly as firm as he would like it to be as he bows his head slightly in acknowledgment of her presence. "Please, make yourself at home."

"Thank you," she says, looking at the couches and arm chairs he gestures at before focusing those unsettlingly blue eyes on him once more. '"Also, thank you for the invitation, Mr. Gold. You too, Neal. I must admit that I've been rather curious about your house. It's a pleasure to be here."

"I… I'm glad," he stammers, not having expected anything like this at all, just like the way she easily sits down in the middle of the largest couch, as if she has done so dozens of times before.

Neal hops onto the seat next to her, eagerly eying the books she begins to unpack.

"Can I… can I get you something to drink, Miss French?" he asks, recalling his duties as a host, rusty as they are… although serving the too lovely librarian is anything but a chore.

"I'd love to have iced tea, if you have that."

He inwardly congratulates himself on acquiring a considerable quantity of that particular beverage for this evening, remembering that he once heard her say to Miss Lucas that it's her favorite drink.

He makes his way to the kitchen, not for the first time wishing that his house wasn't so unnecessarily big. Rather than the distance burdening his bad ankle only more, he can't see and barely hear the woman currently talking with his son in the living room.

Mr. Gold returns as quickly as he can, two glasses balancing precariously on the plate he holds in his left hand. Trying to ignore the wonderfulness, the sheer _rightness_ of the sight of Miss French sitting on his couch with her son closely at her side, he puts the glasses of iced tea and the coke that Neal loves in front of them.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he says, shifting uneasily on his feet, torn between his desire to stay with them and the awareness that he shouldn't, because his son was the one she came for, not him.

"Won't you join us, Mr. Gold?" she asks, with something that couldn't possibly be disappointment.

"Yes, papa, you should stay. Miss French is going to read Beauty and the Beast again. That's your favorite too!"

"Well, I…" The offer is tempting, so very tempting, and so much better than quietly sitting down in the other side of the large room, so he could at least listen to them and watch them from a distance.

"This story isn't complete without my beast," she replies, both the way she looks at him and the way she refers to him leaving him breathless and unable to do anything but sit down next to her after all.

At least for the duration of the story, he might allow himself to inwardly pretend that she could be his beauty as well.

There are no costumes or an enthralled crowd of children surrounding them, but the classical fairytale is only more magical to him now that it's just the three of them in his living room. Especially because his son's head is resting on the librarian's shoulder, like a mother with her child.

No matter how much he wants to, the landlord doesn't dare to burrow against her like that as well. The three of them may have been like that in the library, but he wasn't entirely aware of it at the time; casually recreating that pose is far beyond his capabilities and besides, he wouldn't dare to purposefully seek her nearness like he did before.

Once more, Miss French's voice takes him to faraway places, to a world of make-believe where anything is possible, where a beast and a beauty find their happily ever after. There might as well be magic in her voice, for when she reads the story to them, the landlord finds it shockingly easy to imagine such a bright future for himself, in which the librarian brings light into his son's and his own life on a permanent basis.

Mr. Gold himself may not have had the presumptuousness to lean in to her or the courage to ask her permission, but she shows him once more that it doesn't have to be nearly that complicated.

Indeed, there is nothing easier than snuggling against her after all when she questioningly wraps her free arm around his torso to guide him closer until their sides are touching. Similarly, she shifts her upper body just so, silently inviting him to rest his head on her shoulder as well.

Just like that first time in the library, the landlord is oblivious to the fairytale she's actually reading when he happily focuses on nothing but the sensations of being so wonderfully close to her. This time however he doesn't even try to hide it, shamelessly closing his eyes to focus on her rather than the story she's reading.

That way it's almost easy not to think - not to _fret_ \- about the moment which he supposes will come for the sake of their audience of one, the opportunity that he so thoroughly wasted the previous time and which completely, publicly flustered him when she came up with an almost equally tempting alternative.

But when the page where the beauty and the beast kiss arrives once more, it turns out that it isn't difficult at all to do exactly as he should have done the last time. He needs nothing more than a slight raise of her eyebrow to close the distance between them without any reluctance whatsoever, to press his lips lightly against her cheek.

At her soft hum of undeniable approval, Mr. Gold takes the chance to linger just a little while, to let his nose brush against her skin and to keep his mouth against her softness for longer than he initially intended, his eyes closed as he eagerly breathes in her scent.

Oblivious to his son's enthusiasm as the boy raptly watches the two of them, Mr. Gold savors every detail of the moment to the best of his abilities, only to find that there simply is no way to memorize the magnificence of it all when her hand tenderly caresses his cheek.

There is no regret when he finally withdraws for the sake of propriety, for she leans in to him with a mesmerizing smile before he can go back to pretending that he's only doing this for the sake of the entertainment that the story provides his son.

That smile is what persuades him to give in to his urge to shamelessly lean in to her once more, holding her a little more tightly than before and burrowing his face against the side of her neck. His eyes closed, he basks in her warmth, her voice lulling him to a lovely, very lovely place of endless comfort and affection.

Thus, he's only vaguely aware that Miss French continues with a second fairytale on his son's request when Beauty and the Beat is finished, and a third and a fourth. After all, he couldn't care less about those stories now that he has miraculously ended up in a world of not quite make-believe of his own.

Practically daydreaming of a lifetime of moments like this despite himself and any realistic expectation, the landlord almost dozes off in the cocoon of secure acceptance.

"I guess it's time for me to go to bed," Neal announces without warning, abruptly making an end to the landlord's hazy enjoyment.

"What?" he asks sheepishly, not understanding at all why his son appears to be quite insistent on making an end to what's clearly an enjoyable evening not only for the father himself.

"I'm going to go to bed, it's getting late," the boy repeat with suspicious cheerfulness. "Getting late for _me_ at least."

"You... you don't have to go to bed just yet," Mr. Gold says, beyond confused – and rather frustrated – that his son picks tonight of all times to turn in for the night on his own accord. "I'm quite certain that Miss French is perfectly happy to read you another story. I would like to read you a story myself as well."

"I'd love to read you another story, anyone you like, and I'd love to hear your father read a story as well," she says in response to his inquiring gaze.

"No thank you papa and Miss French. I'm feeling super tired all of a sudden and I just want to go to sleep."

"But..."

The two grown-ups look at each other in surprise when they say the same word simultaneously, neither of them seeming to know what else to say. The librarian for some reason appears to be as eager as he is himself to prolong their togetherness, to hold on to feeling like a loving family for just a bit longer, which only adds to the landlord's confusion.

"I'll brush my teeth and tuck myself in, no problem. I promise I'll go straight to sleep, there's no need to check up on me! Good night papa, good night Miss French!"

Before he has finished speaking, Neal _races_ out of the room, leaving two very bewildered adults in his wake.

"Good night, Neal," they simultaneously reply once more, both of them seeming to be as dumbfounded.

"Well, that's one way of saying goodnight, I suppose," she says, turning all her attention to him and him alone.

It hasn't escaped Mr. Gold's attention at all that his son just very abruptly left the librarian and him all by themselves sitting next to one another in his living room. Despite the bizarreness of the notion, the landlord can't help but feel that Neal has set him up with Belle French.

"He's not... he's not usually like that," he replies, his confusion turning to nervousness when the realization starts to dawn that, no matter Neal's motivation, the librarian and he are all alone now.

He can't help but think of earlier tonight, when his son brought up the librarian's and his father's name in combination with the concept of dating. _Surely_ his son isn't trying to play a matchmaker of sorts for the two of them... is he?!

He can imagine only too well that the boy is fond of Belle French – very easily so. Neal has never said so, but the landlord knows that his son craves a mother figure in his life... and that the librarian would theoretically be a perfect candidate. Being as lovely and wonderful as she is, she would however be wholly unsuitable for the role that comes along with it, namely being his partner.

Then again, it's not as if she would ever want _that_ , so there's no point in thinking about it other to try to make clear to his son as carefully as possible not to get his hopes up.

"Do you want me to go, or would you like me to stay for a bit longer?

"I..."

There's no denying her hopeful tone at the second part of her question, no matter how unlikely it is that she would like to spend more time with _him_ and him alone.

"I'd like for you to stay for a while," he replies, happy to set his disbelief aside for now for at least a few more minutes of her company, "I'd really like that."

"Me too," she says, smiling at him as if he's more than the feared landlord or even the father of a patron of her library she's fond of.

"I... would you like some more iced tea, Miss French?"

"That would be lovely," she says, for some reason _beaming_ at him.

By the time he has returned from the kitchen with two refilled glasses, he still has no idea whatsoever what she seems to be so happy about... why she wants to be in his house, with _him_ , now that Neal has gone to his bedroom and is unusually quiet in the first place.

"Thank you," she says, taking one of the glasses from him.

"Would you like some chocolate as well?" he asks, glancing at the treats which have gone entirely untouched when she weaved her magic with her stories.

"I'd like that as well, yes," she says, taking a chunk when he offers the bowl to her. "Thanks a lot, Mr. Gold."

"You're welcome, Miss French," he replies, trying not to stare when she takes a large bite out of the chocolate and makes a sound of approval that he dares not fully process.

In fact, he hardly dares looking at her at all, sitting on his couch in unexplainable but unmistakable comfort.

"When you read Beauty and the Beast in the library, did you plan in advance to have me kiss you as part of the story?" he asks, figuring that he might as well voice the question that has been plaguing him since that faithful day now that the evening has taken such a strange turn. "Me, or whoever else you might have chosen to be the Beast?"

"No. It occurred to me to ask you that on the spot, when I found myself thinking throughout the story that you would probably never kiss me like that on your own accord."

"You were definitely right about that," he mutters, lowering his gaze.

"Clearly, although I wish I hadn't been."

He doesn't know how to reply, not understanding what she's referring to. Surely, she wouldn't have liked for him to just kiss her cheek on his own accord.

Before Mr. Gold can think of a way to break the lengthening silence and change the topic to a less confusing one, the librarian puts her glass away and reaches for her bag. He scolds himself inwardly, knowing only too well that he has already managed to ruin the time she offered to spend with him.

"If you don't mind, could you read something to me?"

Rather than returning the fairytale book to her bag and get up to leave, she retrieves another, much smaller book from her bag and questioningly offers it to him.

Mr. Gold takes it intuitively, his mind stuttering to a halt at this strange development. That's probably a good thing, for it allows him to open the book before he can think better of it and scan through its content – poetry, it seems; _romantic_ poetry – in what's little more than a reflex.

"Can I take that as a 'yes'?" she asks, looking at him with an intentness that would have made him yet more nervous if he hadn't been lost already.

The landlord nods, utterly dumbfounded, especially when she smiles in undeniable delight.

"I'd like to sit closer to you," she asks, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for her to request. "Is that all right?"

He nods again, his confusion reaching a new high when she scoots towards him and tentatively rests her head on his shoulder, sighing in what appears to be contentment when he is too delightedly bewildered to question her nearness.

"My favorite poem is on page twenty-five," she says quietly.

There must be a hypnotic quality of sorts in her voice, which enables him to turn to the page in question and starts reading like he recites poetry to impossibly enchanting women every day.

There's no way that Belle French knows what it does to him to read about true love to her, but just for now the landlord allows himself to believe that the two of them can get a happily ever after of their own.


	3. Chapter 3

"Can you read just one more story?"

"I don't know, Neal. It _is_ getting rather late," the librarian replies playfully.

" _Please_ , Miss French?"

"And here I was thinking that you are such a well-behaved boy... at least regarding your bedtime," she jokes. "What do you say, Mr. Gold? One more story?"

The landlord in question opens his eyes with some reluctance, looking up from his current position in the librarian's lap, where she miraculously guided his head somewhere between The little match girl and Rapunzel.

"One more story is fine with me," he says, barely suppressing the urge to tell her that she can go on reading all night for as far as he's concerned, that he in fact would love to stay right as they are for as long as possible.

As it is, he gets one more story, another half an hour or so of bliss. Completely oblivious to the story she's actually reading, Mr. Gold focuses instead through half-closed eyes on the scene that the three of them make, almost like a family.

Indeed, with the three of them sitting on Neal's bed like this, with Belle French in the middle while his son is cuddled against her left side and with him lying on her other side with his head in her lap, it almost seems like they are a happily married couple raising a beautiful son.

_Almost_.

Mr. Gold knows better than to fool himself, knows only too well that wishing very hard for something won't make that dream come true. But hoping is all he can do, for no amount of manipulating or other effort is going to make Belle care for him like he feels for her, and rightly so.

Still, pretending that she is actually his wife and Neal's loving mother is infinitely more bearable than not allowing himself to believe in the lie. Which doesn't make it any easier at all when Neal's eyes start falling shut and there's no more reason to linger for yet another story when the two of them lovingly tuck in the boy.

Fortunately, they've also developed a routine of sorts that's just for the two of them. Although it will probably never cease to bewilder him, the librarian has accepted his tentative invitation for tea, chocolate and poetry each and every time he extended it.

In the past few weeks the landlord has read at least half a dozen of books of poetry to her, and he can only wish that there will be many, many more to come. Rather than the poetic words themselves, it's of course the woman who accompanies him whom he can't get enough, of whom he has grown far, far fonder than he should.

Belle French may somehow not mind spending time with his son or even with him alone, may miraculously even _enjoy_ it, but that doesn't mean that she will appreciate the depth and strength with which his feelings for her have developed.

By the time she has bid Neal goodnight like she's truly the boy's mother, Mr. Gold is blinking back his tears, vowing that he would give up all hope of a romantic relationship between them if only she could be like an actual mother to his child... not only on evenings like these, but for the rest of her life.

He has forced those tears back, if barely so, when he switches off the light in his son's room and Belle and he make their way back downstairs.

"Would you like me to stay a while longer?" she asks on her own accord, retrieving what has become their favorite poetry book from her backpack.

"What would _you_ like?" he asks, the tears almost returning with the realization that no matter how much he would like her to be his son's mother, he would so very much like her to be his wife as well, no matter how impossible that obviously is.

"I'd love to stay," she says, the radiant smile she bestows upon him making him breathless.

"I'd like that as well," he replies, smiling tentatively at her.

Although he's grateful that she's willing to spend some more time with him tonight, the landlord desperately wonders at the same time how on earth he can possibly go on pretending that he hasn't fallen hopelessly in love with her.

When she smiles at him with somehow genuine fondness and settles herself on his couch, Mr. Gold knows that there are few things he wouldn't do just to have a few more moments with her, to surrender himself to a few more minutes of bliss.

"Would you like some iced tea?" he asks, buying himself some time as he realizes that he's probably staring at her like the lovestruck fool that he is.

"Yes, thank you," she says, beaming up at him.

The landlord retreats to the kitchen to fetch two of the beverages in question – he himself has grown rather fond of the drink as well. He hesitates when he reaches for the bowl of chocolate he prepared for tonight just in case, not certain if he will still be able to stand the sight of her devouring such treats the way he has learned she does.

In the end, the urge not to neglect his duties as a host – or probably his desire to watch the librarian eat chocolate once more against his better judgment - proves stronger than his fear to betray his feelings for her after all.

Belle smiles at him when he returns to the living room, as if she has been eagerly awaiting his return. When he hands her her drink and sits down next to her on the couch, he can't help but shiver pleasantly when she immediately scoots in his direction.

"Read to me again?" she requests softly, handing him the book of poetry.

He nods, setting his own drink aside.

"Any poem in particular you'd like to hear?" he asks, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes and as disbelieving as always that she isn't only willing to spend time with him like this, but that she truly seems to very much enjoy doing so.

"Page seventy-six?" she suggests quietly.

Mr. Gold nods in agreement before he turns to the page in question and lets his eyes wander over the page. He tenses when he realizes that this is the only poem in the book they haven't read to one another yet... and with good reason.

"I'd really like if you'd read that one to me," she says quietly and very determinedly before he can tell her that he really shouldn't read this particular poem to her.

"If you wish..." he mutters, returning his eyes to the page.

His gaze snaps back to her almost straight away however, for Belle moves yet closer towards him. Rather than resting her head on his shoulder like she has done before, she goes to use his thigh as a pillow. Although he has been in that position on her upper leg several times before, it feels considerably more intimate now that their roles are reversed.

But she looks at him with hopeful eyes and he knows that he can't refuse her anything... that he _wants_ to read innuendo-filled poetry to her while she's closer to him than she has ever been before.

Mr. Gold begins to read, but he's barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth. Instead, he glances at the beautiful woman lying half on top of him as often as he can without losing track of the actual poem. To his bewilderment, there's a smile on her face even as the words he forces from his lips become more and more explicit.

The poem isn't indecent by any means, but it is still rather... stimulating. Which leads to yet another problem of the current circumstances. The landlord may be able to hold himself together mentally, to not betray any of his feelings for her with his words. But he isn't so certain any longer that he possesses the discipline required to hold his body in check.

Her head is all but in his lap, mere inches away from a particular part of his anatomy which is increasingly interested in the proceedings. Rushing through the end of the poem, he knows that he very soon has to excuse himself or suggest for her to go home after all to prevent a disaster from happening.

"Can you get me some chocolate, Mr. Gold?" she asks, as soon as he has finished reading the poem, doing his very best to shut out the images of tangled bodies and heady satisfaction that the words evoked within him.

"Chocolate?" he echoes dumbly, not understanding.

"I'd love to have some chocolate," she repeats, looking at him meaningfully from her highly distracting position on his thigh. "You put the bowl right on the table, but I'm _very_ comfortable here and I don't like to get up just yet. So I'm asking you to get me a piece of chocolate; only if you don't mind, of course."

"I... I don't mind at all, Belle," he says, loathing the husky quality that has crept into his voice as much as the discovery that he can't even rely on his wit anymore even as his body is failing altogether to leave his desire for her a secret.

That's how the landlord ends up picking up a piece of dark chocolate and handing it to her rather than finding an at least somewhat polite way to get himself in a different room than her. To make matters worse – and infinitely better at the same time – she points at her mouth when he hesitantly hovers with the chocolate, intending to hand it to her even as she doesn't make any movement to actually take the treat from him.

Swallowing heavily, he brings the melting chocolate to the same height as her face, shivering when she nods in encouragement, never taking her eyes off his. Sensing that this is truly what she wants, he pushes the treat as carefully between her parting lips as he can.

All efforts not to notice anything about the highly unexpected contact are out of the window when she brushes her tongue against the pad of his thumb in a way that is utterly bewildering and can't possibly be accidental.

When she all but licks his finger, Mr. Gold notices _everything_. The warmth of her breath, the wetness and firmness of her tongue, the mystifying smoldering look in her eyes... it leaves him shuddering and breathing heavily, his hand falling limply away after a few seconds.

Now that he isn't touching her any longer, Belle seems to have recalled that there was a reason that he did what he just did in the first place. Then again, she may have been entirely aware the whole time that he has just practically fed her chocolate, but only now she begins to chew.

Then again, it appears that she does a whole lot more than merely chewing. The impossibly lovely woman closes her eyes and hollows her cheeks as she visibly sucks on the treat in her mouth, going as far as to moan in appreciation. The sound is yet more sinful and shamefully stimulating than the sight of her.

Mr. Gold tries to compose himself and find a way to make certain that none of what just happened went beyond the sometimes playful banter and companionship they have grown to share, terrified of losing that relatively easy togetherness more than anything else.

But before he can do any such thing, the woman who claimed to be too comfortable to get up and reach for the bowl of chocolate herself, sits up without difficulty to reach for a considerable chunk of the treat herself after all.

"Open up?" she asks softly, bringing it to his mouth.

Even as the landlord tries to tell himself that this can't possibly be what it looks like _and_ that nothing good can possibly come from this even if her intentions somehow actually are what they appear to be, he does exactly as she suggests.

This time, he is the one who is groaning none too quietly when Belle gently pushes the chocolate between his teeth, her fingers brushing against his lips for several divine seconds. Rather than moving them away when the chocolate is wholly enveloped by his mouth and his lips are closed again, she presses her fingers against them.

The landlord has never been particularly fond of dark chocolate, preferring to indulge in sweeter flavors every once in a while, but never in his life he has tasted anything better than the chocolate which Belle just offered him in such an utterly if entirely forbidden delicious way.

It turns out that she doesn't stop there, the look in her darkening blue eyes as simultaneously intent and gentle as the way she slightly parts his lips.

"You don't mean to leave me all sticky, do you?" she asks, the unfamiliar sultry tone of her voice as alarming of the suggestive meaning of her words themselves.

And yet, all he can do is open his mouth for her just like she asked once more, his eyes fluttering closed when the taste of the chocolate mixes with the yet better and infinitely more addictive taste of Belle herself.

When he has carefully licked her thumb clean, she slides her index finger between his lips instead. Never breaking eye-contact, he swirls his tongue around it in an ever so disbelieving fashion, shivering both because she's encouraging him to do this and because of the way her eyes widen and seem to darken further when he suckles on her finger.

"Exquisite," he allows himself to murmur roughly when he slips her finger out of his mouth at last, afraid that he will take too much liberty if he were to continue to feast on the part of her that she has for all intends and purposes offered to him.

To his ever growing bewilderment, she brings the fingers he all but just devoured to her own mouth, the digits still glistening with his saliva. Instead of showing even the smallest sign of disgust, Belle slips her index finger between her own lips, still not looking away from him or even blinking.

The plot he has happily surrendered himself to for the past few weeks has been unlikely to say the least all along, but the twist that appears to be going on right now that she crosses yet another undefined line is truly incredible.

The landlord's mouth falls open when she closes her eyes briefly and moans in undeniable approval when she licks the finger he just treated in exactly the same way.

"I concur," she says huskily, looking straight at him when she exchanges her index finger for her thumb to sample yet more of his taste. " _Exquisite._ "

Mr. Gold breathes heavily as he watches her with rapt attention, wondering what on earth she's doing, what all of this _means_... how she can possibly do _this_ at all, let alone in such an apparently eager manner.

When she reaches for him with her yet more glistening fingers, his heart – and an even less pure part of him – surges with pathetic excitement at the prospect of tasting her on her fingers. When Belle doesn't reach for his mouth after all, the landlord moves back abruptly, inwardly cursing his sad eagerness.

But instead of moving away as well, she caresses the side of his face with damp fingers. Entirely overtaken by the very tender and seemingly impossible contact, the landlord's eyes close once more as he commits as much of the wonderful sensations she evokes to memory as possible.

"Can I kiss you, Mr. Gold?"

His eyes open in shock to find that Belle has leaned in to him, mere inches left between their faces as she never ceases to caress his cheek. The conviction that he can't possibly have heard her highly unlikely question correctly fades when he sees the longing look on her face, her eyes solely focused on his lips.

Beyond the unlikeliness of what's happening, the sheer terror of doing anything wrong if he'd actually kiss her should be enough to persuade him that he has to kindly if firmly refuse her request.

But she's looking at him as if she _wants_ to kiss him, no matter how impossible that seems. If he's entirely honest with himself, Mr. Gold wants to kiss her too, to taste her sweetness and to lose himself in her loveliness.

No longer able to consider or fear the consequences, the landlord nods shakily but eagerly in response to her question, yet more confused when she smiles broadly at him in return. He ignores the urge to close his eyes again when she cups his other cheek in her palm as well and closes the last distance between them.

As if he is a fairy tale prince – or a tamed beast, for that matter – after all, the landlord finds that there is nothing difficult whatsoever about kissing her when she presses her lips lightly against his. Indeed, his right hand tangles into her glorious curls practically on its own accord, caressing the hair he has been admiring for longer than he would like to admit.

His eyes fluttering closed once more after all, he sighs happily against her lips, joy and excitement spread rapidly all throughout him. She lets out a little hum that makes his heart leap with joy and encourages him to reach for her with his other hand as well.

Mr. Gold is the one to break away eventually, needing to look at her face to make certain that she truly isn't objecting to this. The ending of their kiss leaves him feeling bereft and he feels particularly foolish when she smiles yet more radiantly at him than before now that they have kissed.

Right there and then, there's nothing he'd rather do than to continue kissing her, but he has no idea how he might achieve that. He's no romantic hero from any kind of story after all, let alone a fairy tale with a happily ever after. To his disappointment and acceptance alike, Belle doesn't offer to kiss him again.

But when he looks at her, flushed cheeks, broad smile and bright eyes and all, the landlord knows that _she_ doesn't have to be the one to do so... and that she has given him the courage to ask the same question that she just did herself.

"May I kiss you as well, Miss French?"

" _Definitely,_ " she murmurs, beaming at him.

He is the one to close the distance between them this time, marveling at the way she continues smiling even as he presses her lips against his. Overtaken by optimism and bravery of a kind he has never known before, the landlord eagerly welcomes her when she opens her mouth a little and questioningly prods his lips with her tongue.

The landlord groans when he reacts in kind and tastes her for the very first time, their tongues meeting tentatively as the taste of chocolate, iced tea and _her_ washes over him. To his delight, he is vaguely aware that she once more reacts exactly the same way to him.

Mr. Gold could go on like this for a considerable time and by now he likes to think that exactly the same goes for Belle as well. But despite the cocoon of pure bliss that seems to grow right around the two of them, the creak from the direction of the hallway belatedly registers in his mind after all.

Much to his regret, he ends the kiss they shared once more. Although he is considerably more reluctant to do so than the previous time, he can't lose himself in the kiss any longer now that there appears to be someone near them in the house that's supposedly empty except for the two of them and his son sleeping upstairs.

Momentarily ignoring the look of confusion on Belle's face, he instinctively glances in the direction of the unexpected sound... only to find that it's none other than his son who is gawking at them from the hallway, the boy's head poked around the door frame.

Neal's eyes widen in shock when he meets his gaze, shock that very much wasn't there when the boy caught his father kissing the librarian... the same librarian he denied being smitten with more than once.

Mr. Gold has barely come to terms with the fact that he's in love with Belle, let alone that she loves him back, that she doesn't run for the hills now that he has kissed her... that she has in fact eagerly kissed him back. It hadn't even occurred to him yet that he was going to inform his son at one point that there is something growing between the librarian and himself.

But here they are, his cheeks bright red and his heart beating wildly in his chest already _before_ his son caught the two of them. All the landlord can think of is the wonderfulness of the kiss Belle and he just shared, but he's going to have to tell Neal _something,_ right now... preferably something that will help the boy accept her in both their lives.

The heavy silence between them lengthens as the landlord struggles to find the right words; almost his entire vocabulary might as well have been erased now that he has tasted the sweetness of the woman he has slowly but surely fallen in love with.

In fact, he can't even speculate why the boy isn't in the bed where they left him not all that long ago, let alone what he's doing _here_. From the corners of his eyes he sees Belle staring at the boy as well, having realized what distracted him from their kiss.

Before either of them can say anything, a wide grin appears on his son's face.

"This is _wonderful_ ," Neal says excitedly, all but bouncing on his feet. "I was _hoping_ that the two of you would get together, but I had no idea it would be so soon!"

A weight he didn't know he was carrying is lifted off his shoulders now that the boy reacts so well to the development in the relationship of Belle and him, that his son in fact seems to be thrilled for both of them.

The landlord has no idea whatsoever what to say to that – and neither does she, given the questioning look on her face. But it seems that he doesn't have to, for his boy practically jumps towards them.

"I'm so happy!" his son exclaims, grinning at them like it's simultaneously Christmas and his birthday.

"So am I," the landlord mutters, gazing lovingly and with ever lingering disbelief at the so very wonderful woman at his side.

"Me too," she says, her smile widening further when Neal pulls both of them into an enthusiastic embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

"Papa? Papa, are you in your room?"

Waking abruptly at the sudden noise of his son's loud voice, Mr. Gold groans while attempting to open his eyes. He doesn't require much sleep by nature, but right now he's unusually reluctant to wake up.

There's the sound of the door to his bedroom being opened and then his ten years old son stumbles into the room without announcement.

"Ah, there you are papa! I was getting worried. I couldn't find you anywhere and..."

His boy falters, and so does the landlord himself when the two of them simultaneously become aware of the third person in the room. Mr. Gold must have been in very sleep indeed to have forgotten, no matter how temporarily, that he spent his first night with the love of his life.

"Good morning, Neal," the woman in his arms says sleepily, brushing the wild curls out of her face.

"Good morning, Miss Belle," his son greets the librarian with considerably more eloquence than Mr. Gold can himself at that very moment. "Did you and papa have a sleepover?"

"I suppose you can call it that, yeah," she says, turning in his embrace to look at him in all her barely-awake magnificence.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he breathes when they are face to face, his voice so quiet that only she can hear.

"A good morning indeed," she smiles, stretching and making herself comfortable at his side.

Unbidden, his gaze is drawn to her barely-there nightgown... or rather, the beautiful body beneath it. Momentarily forgetting all about his son, the landlord takes in the glorious sight of her, lying in his bed like this like she belongs there, like there's nowhere she'd rather be. Her hair tousled and her eyes only half-open with sleep, he has never been taken aback more by her loveliness.

"Did Miss Belle and you make babies, papa?"

His only slowly awakening brain stunned by the matter of fact question, his son's inquiry reminds him how Belle and he took advantage of Neal's sleepover at the Nolan's house... how, after some in retrospect foolish uncertainty from his side, they swapped the couch for his bed to continue their midnight conversations... conversations that turned to deep kisses and mind-melting touches.

"What makes you say that, son?" he asks rather hoarsely, attempting to buy time and, above everything else, trying not to think of Belle's moans and her warm softness when he tentatively explored her curves, of the feeling of her tongue in his mouth and her hands in his hair.

"You don't have any clothes on," Neal simply replies. "And you said for yourself that when two people love each other very, very much..."

Intuitively, he pulls the blankets more fully over Belle and himself, at the same time ensuring himself that his son can't have seen more than he should before that.

Of course, there's no way that Mr. Gold can't _not_ think back on the moment that she slowly, purposefully, pulled his pajama top over his head, wholly undeserved appreciation written all over her face when she touched his bare chest for the first time.

Still, before he can remark that he is wearing _some_ clothes, his son's attention shifts to Belle. He can practically _see_ the almost non-existent straps of her silky nightgown which are still visible above the blankets catch the boy's attention.

"Don't you love my papa very much?" his son asks in a small voice.

"What makes you say that?" Belle asks in return, clearly badly at ease.

"Neal..." Mr. Gold says warningly, not too embarrassed yet to fail to see that this situation can yet get a whole lot worse.

"Because you're still wearing... something," he says, gesturing vaguely at the straps of her nightgown.

"Neal, you can't just ask people things like this," the landlord says tensely, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

There's no doubt in his mind that his son has nothing but good intentions, but he won't allow the boy to make Belle unknowingly uncomfortable. He can only imagine that it's as horrifying for her to be seen with him like this as it is to be drilled on whatever her feelings for him are... something which the landlord doesn't exactly know himself either.

"I'd love to have a baby brother," his son says, looking expectantly at them. "Even a baby sister would be fine."

" _NEAL!"_

Belle tenses further next to him, and so does his son at his spot next to the bed. Mr. Gold closes his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself. He wasn't prepared for this conversation in any circumstances, let alone when Belle and he are in bed together for the first time.

Really, he's going to _kill_ the Nolans for sending Neal back so early in the morning, rather than early in the afternoon like they had agreed upon.

"Son, you are asking some very personal questions," he says after a few seconds, choosing his words as carefully as he can. "I promise you that we will talk about this, but not here, and not now."

"Alright. I'm sorry," the boy says in a small voice. "Shall I make lunch to make it up to you? I shall just bring it to your room... I'll be very quiet and I'll leave straight after giving you the tray, I promise."

"How about we start the day with breakfast?"

"We've already had breakfast, but I can can make it for you if you like," his son says quietly.

"You already had breakfast?" the landlord inquires, not understanding.

"Yeah, a few hours ago, with Emma and her parents."

"Neal, what time is it?" Belle asks gently, clearly being the more composed person between the two of them – like the type of parent his son actually deserves.

"It's one o'clock," the boy replies, looking at them with sudden concern. "Didn't you know?"

"One o'clock in the _afternoon_ ," Mr. Gold concludes, inwardly cursing himself when he finally begins to see that he was too hasty to blame the Nolans for this unfortunate situation.

"Of course," his son replies, looking questioningly at them.

"It's alright, Neal," Belle says, smiling warmly at his son. "Thank you for reminding us. Your papa and I lost track of time, but we're all caught up now thanks to you."

Relieved when his son visibly relaxes, the events – and timing – of the events of last night fully return to the landlord's memory. It was long past midnight when the two of them retreated to his bedroom, sharing countless kisses and caresses before they eventually surrendered to sleep, with her back to his chest and his arms around her waist, just like they woke up mere minutes ago.

"Okay," the boy says, "then I'll be back in fifteen minutes or so with your breakfast."

"That would be lovely, Neal," Belle beams at him.

"Yes, thank you," the landlord says gratefully.

"Oh, I forgot..." Neal asks, looking back at them just before he steps out of the bedroom. "Where are the rabbits?"

"What rabbits?" Mr. Gold asks, confused once more.

"The ones you are having here."

"There are no rabbits here, son," he replies patiently and ever so confused. "You know that, don't you?"

"But we ran into Ruby when Emma and her parents brought me back here and she said that there _are._ "

"What did Ruby say exactly?" Belle asks, with an edge of... something in her voice.

"She said something about rabbits going to be there, in our house... or something _like_ rabbits."

_Going at it like rabbits_ , his mind helpfully supplies, causing the landlord to almost choke on his own breath. Given the way her face is reddening, Belle isn't faring much better.

"We can check later if you want to make certain, but I'm telling you that there are no rabbits here, Neal," she calmly replies, much to his relief. "Why don't we talk about it after breakfast?"

"Okay," his son says again, shrugging before he makes his way out of their bedroom after all, closing the door behind him.

"I'm going to kill her," the librarian mutters as soon as they're all alone once more, doubtlessly referring to her rather unconventional friend. "Making innuendos like that to your son, to a _child_..."

"I'm sorry, Belle. Very sorry, for everything," he mutters, his mind struggling to comprehend just how badly everything went in the past few minutes. "Our first morning together, I wish it would have been... well, a lot less like this."

Really, he can't even decide which of the topics his son just brought up is more awkward in this early stage of their relationship, which is unlikely enough as it is in its own right: love, children or _sex_.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she says, turning to face him. "Unless... unless perhaps you don't want what Neal was referring to."

"What are you saying?!" he asks, still barely able to think straight when she looks at him as if it's only normal for her to wake up next to him in bed – as if she wants to do so considerably more often.

"Well, for the sake of honesty... I _can't wait_ to go at it like rabbits with you, I'm not opposed to the idea of having children with you one day and I'm quite certain that I've fallen in love with you."

Mr. Gold may have thought that he was awake, but now that Belle tells him that she wants to sleep with him, that she perhaps would like to have children with him and that she _loves_ him, he is convinced that he is still sleeping after all, having by far the best dream of his life.

But then Belle looks away from him restlessly, pulling the covers more fully over her. The consequent movement of air is too chilly to be anything but real.

"Do you have anything to say to that?" she asks softly, making him realize only then that he hasn't said anything at all in return to her confessions, instead staring at her like the undeserving fool he is since she bared her heart to him.

" _Marry me._ "

Now _she_ is the one staring like she can't believe what he's saying. Mr. Gold can't quite believe if either, if only because it's difficult to imagine that he actually said the two words which he has been contemplating for weeks. He never thought that he'd have the courage to say them out loud, let alone for them to be met with a radiant smile and very enthusiastic nods.

"Yes," she mutters, practically throwing herself in his arms. " _Yes!_ I know we haven't properly known each other for very long yet, but... I love you. _I love you_."

Belatedly, Mr. Gold realizes that he is yet more unprepared for his spontaneous proposal than he already thought. He has nothing but his good intentions and for once bright hopes... indeed, he doesn't even have a _ring_.

And yet, he can't help but conclude that it doesn't seem to matter now that she holds him tightly and looks at him with wet, bright eyes.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he rasps right before she slants her lips over his.

Last night they shared nothing but careful touches and kisses, but there's nothing tentative about the way she all but devours him and the way he returns her vigor now.

He already concluded that Belle, against all odds, isn't disgusted by his nearness, by his burning desire for her. After all, the world hadn't ended – and neither had her interest in him, far from it – when his reverent fingers had inched under her nightgown and when the unmistakable evidence of his arousal had pressed insistently against her stomach the night before.

Still, last night is nothing compared to _this_ , to the way he blindly clings to her with eager hands, kissing her hungrily and hardening against her almost immediately. And yet, Belle reacts with nothing but enthusiasm, not breaking the kiss for only a second and rubbing herself against him urgently.

Which makes him feel yet more confused, cold and empty when she breaks away from him abruptly and without warning.

"I'm... I'm going to go get changed," she says, the smoldering look in her eyes preventing him from fully panicking straight away.

"But I thought we might..."

Mr. Gold doesn't know what's more pathetic: the way he helplessly reaches for her retreating form or the fact that he actually thought she was craving his touch.

"I don't want to stop either," she says, the way she bites her lip making him only more desperate for her to return to bed, to _him_. "But Neal is going to be back here soon and I figured we'd better be dressed and... calm when he does."

"I... yes, of course, sweetheart, _of course,_ " the landlord says, inwardly cursing himself once more for having forgotten altogether that his son can come back with the breakfast he promised them at any time… and for doubting Belle's affections for him after she just accepted his marriage proposal of all things.

"You should put your pajama shirt back on," she says over her shoulder when she opens the door to the bathroom, "you look positively _sinful_."

All Mr. Gold can do is smile wordlessly at her, realizing only then that he's sitting upright in bed without a shirt on. Belle sees him in the harsh light of day, which is infinitely less forgiving than the dim lamp light in which she saw him the night before, and she _still_ looks at him with admiration and desire.

"You know, I was thinking..." she says, smiling mischievously as she toys with the doorknob between her hands. "Now that Ruby has gotten us into this situation, I could ask her to look after Neal for a while this afternoon, after we have had breakfast; I'd say she owes us that. Maybe, if you like, when we've got the house all to ourselves, we might go... looking for rabbits. To celebrate our engagement."

Although his mind is barely able to process what she's saying, the rest of him not only understands perfectly, but also approves of her proposal very, very much. That's how the landlord ends up nodding frantically in response to her suggestion, even though he can rationally barely believe what's happening.

"Good," she says coyly before disappearing into the bathroom, "I was very much hoping you would like that as well."

Smiling broadly, he falls back against the pillows, not putting his pajama shirt back on just yet. Already imagining a long, happy life with Belle in his mind's eye, it slowly starts to dawn fully on him that the woman he has fallen so deeply in love with has accepted to be his wife.

Mr. Gold happily listens to the sounds in the house around him, which remind him that his son is making breakfast in the kitchen and that his soon to be _wife_ is getting dressed – for now, at least – in his bathroom. His body gradually calming down, his mind is getting only more excited about the future and the family which the three of them will be in this happily ever after.


End file.
